


Raindrops on Roses

by greenkangaroo



Category: The Hobbit, Tolkien - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen, Genderbend, M/M, potential for AUs, sibling feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 00:29:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 11,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenkangaroo/pseuds/greenkangaroo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A spiritual sidequel to Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap). Shorts in different situations, AUs and universes  heavily centered around Dori, the oldest Ri brother. Contains various teas, housecoats, doilies, mutterings, motherings, and the occasional bludgeoned orc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Weight

"Dori, that's enough." 

His fingers were starting to hurt. Why were they starting to hurt? 

"Dori, please." 

Nori so rarely asked Dori for anything with that tone of voice. The 'please calm down' voice. The 'I am genuinely afraid right now' voice. Dori didn't like it when Nori used that voice _why was he using that voice?_

Something creaked. It sounded an awful lot like bone. 

Oh. 

OH. 

Dori came back to himself all at once and saw that the face just above the reedy neck he was holding had turned an interesting shade of blue. He let go immediately and the Man dropped, gasping and coughing, making sick sounds as he tried to reel himself back from the brink. 

The hand on his shoulder squeezed. 

"It's okay, Dori." Nori still sounded Too Calm, Too Controlled. "We're all okay." 

Dori took a few deep breaths. There was a buzzing in his ears, long and annoying. 

He could see the knifelike smile as he heard Nori say aloud to the stunned spectators, "Well, that was fun, wasn't it, Lads? Don't mind us, we'll just be going." 

Dori let his brother guide him out of the tavern. He let Nori's eyes, ever sure in the dark, lead them back to the little camp where the other members of the Quest were gathered. He let Nori explain that someone had said Something They Shouldn't Have. 

Dori wasn't surprised when Ori half-crawled into his lap. And when he had, suddenly it was okay to hang his head and let himself cry. Nori sat behind him, as he always had when they were still young and still called each other brother. He wrapped his arms around Dori- thieving arms, dishonest arms. 

A weight for his front, a weight for his back. Weights to keep Dori from hurting the world, the way the world had always hurt Dori. 

He closed his eyes and slept sitting up, and dreamed of rivers of gold.


	2. Tinker

Dori could fix anything. 

This was common knowledge. Horse threw a shoe and you didn't have time to get to the blacksmith? go to Dori on Weaver's Way. Gilt finally flaking off your grandmother's heirloom necklace? Dori, three houses down. Crack in a porcelain teapot? Why I know a dwarf who lives not far from here...

In his more fanciful moments Dori would tell his many customers that he was 'a jack of all trades, but master of none'. He would weave and glue and solder and hammer and chat and then count the coins in his hand. 

Ori was very good at funneling people to Dori. He had a sweet smile and a gentle disposition, for a dwarf. Folk believed him when he said, lacing his fingers together, that his big brother could do just right by you, sir or madam, if you only stopped by to see him. Dori loved Ori for that, and was also ashamed. In a better world, his youngest brother would not need to be plying his oldest brother's trade to strange men who passed through on their way to less desperate places. 

then again, in another world, Dori wouldn't have to wonder whether or not his first younger brother was going to make it home. 

Dori liked working with copper the best, when it came down to it. Copper was a good metal, forgiving and always ready for a shine. Copper could be buffed, scratched, dinged, dented, and still it would hold heat and shape. Copper could be knocked down; it could not be knocked out. 

Sometimes Dori was able to create things out of scraps that he was left. Ori's quill-quiver was one of these, a little masterpiece of silver buckle and leather pocket that attached to the front of his journal with a strap. 

"So you don't lose them all the time." Dori said, and Ori had hugged him tightly and said "You can fix anything, can't you, Dori?" 

He'd seen his little brother off to his apprenticeship and then sat at his splintery kitchen table and didn't move for a long time. He looked at the breadbox (stolen) the pans overhead (stolen) the worn teatowels by the sink (knitted, thank you very much.) 

Dori could fix anything. 

He just couldn't fix the one thing that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, Dori.


	3. The Wager

Nori had warned him, after the yelling had finally wound down, that joining the quest wouldn't be so easy. 

"Dwalin son of Fundin is the King's right hand, Dori, and he hates me." 

Dori could understand why, but he didn't say so- for one thing, both he and Nori were too hoarse to keep yelling at one another, and for another thing, brothers weren't supposed to admit that they could see why other people hated their siblings. 

Even if it was Nori, and even if Nori would understand entirely. 

"Leave Fundinson to me." Dori instructed, and Nori shrugged and nodded. They went to sleep in the same house for the first time in years. Dori vaguely wondered before he drifted off if Nori had enough blankets, whether or not he'd looked wain and thin, and if the silver was still going to be there in the morning. 

\---

Predictably, Dwalin was Not Impressed. 

"I should arrest you right now." he told Nori, who had for once agreed to Dori's plan and was standing off to the side with Ori, who had taken to twisting his knitting into a little knot of despair. 

Dori heard Nori draw breath and knew he had to do something before it all went downhill. 

"Do you deny my brother is skilled?" he demanded with all the affronted dignity he could muster. This brought Dwalin up short and the Guardsman's attention was drawn from younger brother to older. 

"His skills are not the kind this quest requires, Master Dori." Dwalin said. 

"How can you be so sure? You've warriors, lawyers, a _toymaker._ You are eager to accept my help, Fundin's son, and what do I do?" 

Dwalin was silent. 

"I make tea." Dori said, ruthlessly gaining ground. "I tinker. I mend pots and jewelry and torn coatsleeves. What do I have to offer that is any better than what Nori can provide? Who is to say that on one dark night you might not need a thief?" 

It didn't strike Dori for a few moments that that was the first time in years he had admitted aloud what it was Nori did without flinching or feeling ashamed. Dwalin's jaw worked but nothing came out. 

Dori's mother had been a maiden of the court of Erebor, and a whirling dervish with an axe. She'd taught him to press his advantage. 

Press he did. 

"A wager." he said. 

"A what?" Dwalin asked. 

"A wager." Dori lookd around and saw a table that could do. "I will arm wrestle you. To the count of ten, as is tradition. If you win, Nori does not join us and if you can _catch_ him," he put the emphasis on catch knowing that Dwalin had never been able to before, "you can arrest him." 

Dwalin snorted. "And if you win, shopkeeper?" he asked.

Dori shrugged. "You take us to see the King. All three of us, together." 

"Dori!" Ori protested. Nori squeezed their youngest brother's shoulder, watching Dori with a strange light in his eyes. 

Dwalin sighed. "Well, if it'll get you out of my beard, fine." 

The two dwarves approached the table and obediently shucked all gauntlets, knuckledusters, and rings that would interfere with their contest. 

"Ori." Dwalin spoke the youngest's name in a grunted burr that startled the young scribe. 

"Y-yes?" 

"Begin the count for us." Dwalin sat and put his arm up, watching Dori. Dori sat and carefully arranged his overcoat before putting his own arm up. Dwalin nodded at Dori, Dori nodded at Dwalin; both looked to Ori, who straightened his back as best he could. Nori took up a seat near the door, and lit his pipe. 

"At the count of three I will begin again." Ori said, "and at three, the contest starts. Do you understand?" 

"Aye." Dwalin said. 

"I do." Dori acknowledged. 

"Good. One...two...THREE." 

Dwalin was a guardsman of experience. He did not immediately throw his weight against Dori; shopkeeper the other dwarf might be, but Dwalin had long ago learned to get the measure of his opponents. As Ori counted down, he increased his pressure again- and again- and again. 

Dori did nothing. 

He could see the moment of realization dawning in Dwalin's eyes as Ori got to eight. In sudden ferocious desperation he put forth all of his strength, a great grunt issuing forth. 

Dori, oldest son of Kori, did not budge. 

"-TEN!" 

Dori knew if he turned he would see a very wide grin on Nori's face. 

Dwalin lowered his arm, staring in unabashed shock. "How-?" he asked. 

Dori stood. He carefully checked that his coat was undamaged and then knelt to pick up his gauntlets. He placed one on the table and it thunked spectacularly, being made, as it was, of solid etched iron panels welded to thick boiled leather. 

"Take us to the King." The Ri patriarch said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One line in the book The Hobbit insinuates that Dori is the strongest dwarf physically of the company. And by insinuates I mean Thorin said it, therefore it must be true (as I was reminded in the comments- well not about Thorin just the line. Thorin must always be right because he is Majestic, as we know.) Whether or not it plays into the movie at all I have accepted this as awesome because it contrasts so well with Dori's somewhat fussy and delicate behavior.


	4. The Care And Courting Of Dori Son of Kori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin has faced down orcs, wild men, bandits, elves, goblins and wolves.  
> Really.  
> How hard can courting be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written in the sunshine and rainbows universe. Nobody dies and everyone is happy. dwalinxdori

_Step 1: Ascertain your intended's receptiveness to courting._

Dwalin was just finishing up his annual physical when a young guardsman was brought into the Healing Cavern on a stretcher, moaning deliriously. 

"What in the name of Mahal happened to him?" he asked the nearest healer. 

The woman's lips twisted up in a wry grin. "He made a pass at Lord Dori." She replied. "He didn't!" Another healer exclaimed. "I do believe the words 'arse' and 'peach' were used liberally." the first healer replied. "Oh mahal and he's still ALIVE?" "Barely." The healer went about setting the young dwarf's shoulder back into its socket. He howled. Dwalin swallowed hard and went on his way, doing his best not to think of Dori's arse and a peach in the same breath. 

_Step 2: Obtain permission from the family._

Dwalin kept his lips tight and drawn down in a scowl, ignoring the fact that the rest of the tavern had gone very silent. Across from him Nori of Ri- Spymaster of Erebor, left hand of Thorin Oakenshield, and one of Dwalin's best friends- was still howling with mirth, beating upon the stone table with his fist. His ale was long since forgotten. 

"DORI! You- you want to- oh Mahal and Eugenides save me- you want to court _Dori?!_ " 

Nori finally managed to control himself, still chuckling. "Oh, Dwalin. Dwalin, Dwalin, Dwalin." He shook his head. "You fool." 

"Do you think me unfit?!" Were Nori anyone else Dwalin would have already dragged him out into the street and initiated combat for the bismirching of his honor. Nori, of course, waved that off with a gesture. 

"You aren't unfit, friend." Nori said. "No, by Mahal you're one of the fittest, most blastedly honorable dwarves I know and as far as I'm concerned, should you want to court my brother, you're welcome to him." There was a twinkle in the thief's eyes. "But don't expect him to make it _easy._ " 

Ori, when pressed, just made a squeaking sound and said "Do you really want to, Mr. Dwalin? Do you really?!" 

Dwalin was reevaluating his desire to join with the House of Ri. 

Clearly they were all stark raving bonkers. 

_Step 3: Once permission has been obtained, the First Gift must be given._

What did you get a dwarf like Dori? Dori, who could rip an orc's head off and then turn around and brew a delicate cup of chamomile tea? Dori, who settled the domestic disputes within the mountain with all the ease of an old matron but who grinned like a wolf when tatting lace? 

Carving a pipe was far too intimate, and even as he thought of it Dwalin's eyes drifted shut and saw Dori's full lips closing on the stem, blowing out delicate smoke rings, perhaps sucking just a little- no. No, a pipe would not do. Dori was not a warrior by profession and so weapons would be seen as a desire for him to change who he was to suit his suitor. 

In desperation Dwalin went to his older brother. 

Balin had a brilliant idea.

Dori looked at the expertly forged iron teapot and then up at Dwalin, son of Fundin. 

"this is a teapot." 

"Aye." Dwalin was sweating. 

"Shaped like a dragon." 

"Aye." 

"...it appears to have a tiny orc in its claws." 

That bit had been Kili's idea. 

"And a hobbit on its back."

That had been Fili. 

"Aye, that, it-" 

"Dwalin." Dori sounded thoughtful. "Is this a courtship gift?" 

Dwalin saw his life pass before his eyes. 

"..aye." he closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable. 

_Step 4: If your gift is accepted, accept from your intended their Bead._

Dwalin felt a gentle brush of lips on his cheek, lighter than a butterfly's wings. Startled, he opened his eyes. Dori smiled at him, and bowed the exact polite degree of a courted dwarf to the one who intended to do the courting. Dwalin realized that he was wearing a very fetching shade of green and then realized again in the same thought that it was the shade he preferred. 

Straightening from the bow Dori reached for his beard and carefully removed the silver bead that declared him unattached. He held it out and Dwalin's body, moving entirely independently of his brain at the moment, took it. The silver was cool and smooth and glorious in the Guardsman's hand. 

"I accept." Dori said. 

_Step 5: Begin your courtship in a manner that brings honor to you and your family, and brings no dishonor to your intended._

Dwalin stared at the ceiling of Dori's bedroom. His beard was a mess, he wasn't sure where his boots were, and he was fairly certain that his hips would be bruised for the next month. 

_Balin is going to be so annoyed with me._

_Would Nori try to gut me?_

_Yes, yes he will, laughing all the while._

_Bugger._

Running a hand down the sleeping Dori's bare back, tracing each muscle and curve, fully expecting the dwarf to wake soon and tutter over their state of disarray and loving every moment of it, Dwalin found that he didn't care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone wanted Dwalin courting Dori, and really, the pairing is just so damn cute that I couldn't resist. Part of my mission to ship Dwalin son of Fundin with all the Ri brothers.


	5. One Lump Or Two?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do not anger the Shopkeeper, for you are a moron and asking for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspired by comments over on Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap).

Ori could tell, by the tightness at the edge of Dori's eyes, that their newest shop patron was destined for pain. 

Normally Dori made it personal habit to always be as polite and courteous as he could when it came to the teashop. He had a reputation cultivated, and a strong customer base; these things kept Ori's tuitions paid and a roof over their heads. Dori could and did take a lot of abuse on a daily basis. Spilled tea, complaints about the state of dwarvish coffee, the mess the miners tracked in at the end of their shifts. Each indignity seemed multiplied by how gracefully Dori dealt with it. He was always the perfect host, the perfect server. He knew plenty about a plethora of topics and could keep the talk light no matter who he spoke to, be they pauper or king. 

This, though. 

This was Something Else. 

The dwarf had been whistling at Dori for the past ten minutes. Beyond that, he had _touched_ Dori, in a way no dwarf touched another without permission. 

There was only so much a fellow could take. 

Ori, seated at his little writing desk by the door that led to their home above the shop, watched Dori come around the counter, pleasant smile still plastered to his face. The shop was quiet, as it wasn't yet midafternoon; Ori's teacher Balin had come in for his normal cup, and was watching the one other customer with polite distaste. 

Dori brewed the requested pot of saffron tea. He happened to look up and see Ori looking at him, eyes wide behind his practice book. He smiled and it was his 'it's okay' smile, the one that Ori hated so much because it was never a real smile, it never meant that everything really was okay. 

Dori brought the pot on its tray with the sugar and cream back around to the dwarf at the table in the corner. "Here you are, my good sir." he said, putting the tray down, still in 'polite shopkeep' mode. "Will you need one lump, or two?" 

Ori almost choked. 

Balin's eyebrows rose. 

The dwarf, having no idea the danger he was in, leered and leaned forward. "Well, I certainly wouldn't say no to two." his hand twitched as though it were back on Dori's posterior, "If you take my meaning." 

Dori closed his eyes. He took a calming breath. 

"Two. Right." he said pleasantly. 

The first blow was from the left; Dori favored his left hand. The dwarf's head was knocked to the side, the blow more than hard enough to dislodge some teeth. The second blow, from the right fist, was an uppercut, and it knocked the dwarf out of his chair and down to the floor of the tea shop in a stone cold faint. 

Dori neatened his braid and checked to be sure the tray with its expensive (and delicious) tea had not fallen over. He nudged the unconcious dwarf with a boot and nodded, satisfied that he'd managed not to kill the lout. 

"Mister Balin," he said, turning to the chuckling lawyer, "would you kindly help me take out the trash?" 

Balin grinned widely. "Laddie, it would be my honor." he stood and came over to Dori. He put a hand on the shopkeep's shoulder. "I'll be your witness that he was actin' unkindly, too." Balin said quietly, "should anyone decide to drag this before the court." 

Dori heaved a sigh that shook his bones. He couldn't afford the kind of trouble a case like that would bring to his business. "Thank you, Mister Balin." he said quietly. 

"Not a problem." Balin got the head as Dori got the feet. The older Ri brother turned to Ori, who hadn't moved. "Watch the shop, love?" he asked. 

Ori nodded slowly, eyes wide, and Dori and Balin took out the trash. 

Really, Ori thought to himself as he returned to his careful inscriptions, you'd think anyone would know better than to answer the question one lump or two when it was asked by a palm warrior.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a fanciful image of Dori being trained in most forms of unarmed combat based on his sheer brute strength. I am also convinced that he can turn any household implement into a weapon, a trait which he probably shares with his brothers. 
> 
> ..I also seem to be turning Dori into some kind of Uncle Iroh hybrid. No regrets.


	6. A Most Intriguing Brew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dori finds that lovers, like tea, vary from place to place- I mean, species to species.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU ALL CAN BLAME THORINSMUT FOR THIS.  
> THEY PROBABLY THOUGHT I WOULDN'T DO IT.  
> BUT I DID.  
> SIT IN THE CORNER AND THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU'VE DONE, THORINSMUT.
> 
> Note: This little one shot is not to be taken as a guide for Thorinsmut's fic Your Axe To My Throat, My Knife To Yours. Thorinsmut's Nethanu endings (both good and bad) can be found in their fic Axe Omakes. This is nothing but fabrication and witchcraft on my part.

The first thing Dori noticed about the smallest, most nervous member of the mirkwood delegation is that every time he looked at Nori, he flushed red as a wild raspberry. 

Now logic dictated that perhaps the elf just wasn't used to such flamboyant hair, or even the smooth, unnatural manner Nori used to carry on conversations. However, there was the little matter of the escape from Mirkwood, and Bilbo's mutterings of Nori 'talking' to an elf, and all the other great tall gangly creatures ignoring the littlest one as though he were an unsightly scuff on their boots. 

It chafed Dori, in all the wrong places. 

Cornering Nori to ask questions would get him nothing, he knew; his brother was simply too good at escaping. The only one he couldn't escape without effort was Dwalin and Dori knew better than to try and involve the Captain of the Guard in their family tempests. Dwalin had all but said he wouldn't stand for it. Dori couldn't blame him. The altercations in the House of Ri went back generations. There were dwarves who spoke in reverent tones of the time Dori's great great grandmother Vori threw a hot iron bar at her twin brother Sori's head, nearly braining the then very young Prince Durin. 

The family Ri were always given the house with the thickest walls and best sound protection, for that very reason. 

Dori wasn't entirely surprised to find the little elf loitering on their street. He was watched, of course, but the guard had decided that one so small probably didn't pose much of a threat. 

Dori thought of Bilbo and wanted to inform them otherwise. He'd tell Dwalin, the next time his brother in law was up for dinner. 

"Do you need help, Master Elf?" he asked, adjusting the shopping basket on his arm. The frizzy haired thing turned suddenly with a squeak of surprise and Dori thought perhaps the guards were right; he could take the little scrap one handed and not bruise a single apple in his arms. 

"I, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" the elf sighed. "I am searching for a house." he said, clearly uncomfortable, eyes on his soft boots. "The house of Nori of Ri?" 

Dori almost groaned. 

Almost. 

"He lives on this street by mouth only, lad." Dori said gently. "Most nights he is gone, with his betrothed." 

The B word did it. The poor elf's face fell to pieces. 

_Serves you right for imprisoning starving poisoned dwarves who'd done you no wrong,_ a tiny part of Dori said. 

_He's just a lad. He didn't understand the game Nori was playing, that's why Nori picked him._

_If this elf were my brother would I not want answers? I can give him those._

_He could be a spy._

_I have kitchen knives._

That decided, Dori sighed and gestured to the carved gate that led into their abode. "I am Dori, unfortunate and long suffering brother of Nori." he said. "Would you like some tea, Master..?" 

"Nethanu." The elf said, eyes bright. "Just Nethanu. That-that would be nice, Master Dori." He sniffed. 

_oh Mahal don't cry._

Dori flagged down a guard. "Inform Lord Dwalin that Master Nethanu of the Mirkwood Delegation will be with me for a bell or two." he said. He palmed the guard a piece of orange silk, one of many such strips he kept up his sleeves, tied in a simple knot. It meant 'no danger, but caution.' 

Dwalin would know what to do with it. 

The guard nodded and left to do as he was bid. Dori son of Kori ushered an elf into his home, and started the water for tea. 

\---

'

Nethanu wasn't a very old elf, as far as elvish lifespans went; Dori wasn't terribly surprised to find that he was barely past his majority. The dwarf brewed a hearty cup of cinnimon and ginger apple, hoping to relax the poor thing. 

_He's really no different from Ori._

The story, when it came, flooded out all at once. Dori felt torn, at once frustrated with his brother and pleased at his resourcefulness. It was clear that in their escape, Nethanu was collateral damage; he hadn't been directly blamed for their escape but neither had he advanced in the servant ranks since it had happened, and was teased overmuch for being a lover of beards. 

"Master Nethanu," Dori said gently, blowing on his tea to cool it, "my brother was worried for us, and for our mission. We were wrongfully imprisoned, you cannot contest that." 

"Well, no, I can't, but.." Nethanu sighed. "I knew this was a bad idea. His knot told me it was." 

Dori straightened. "He left you a knot?" 

Nethanu nodded. 

"May I see?" 

Dori's knot language was rusty, but when the thread was produced his fears of duels over Nori's potential dishonor faded. "Nethanu," he said, "this knot does not promise you anything." 

"I know." Nethanu said. Dori patted the elf's hand, marveling at how smooth and cool it was. If he touched another dwarf who was so cool, he would be worried for the fellow's health. 

"My brother did not want to hurt you so," Dori said, hoping it was true and knowing that Nori probably didn't feel an ounce of remorse. "He would not do such a thing lightly." 

"I thought not. And it all worked out in the end, I suppose. Erebor is reclaimed and I..." Nethanu sighed. "I suppose I learned something." 

_Oh, little one. You have much to learn yet._

"Here, you're out of tea." Dori said. "Let me pour you another." 

Nethanu smiled and it was the sweetest thing Dori had ever seen. "Thank you, Master Dori. You have been kind to me though you have no reason to be." 

"You are not your king, as I am not my king." Dori said. "Hate breeds hate." He poured another cup. "Remember that, Master Nethanu." 

\---

Nethanu had an appreciation for tea that Dori enjoyed. The young elf came back to him many times over the stay of the delegation, and when he was gone, he wrote, sometimes including little samples of teas that had passed through mirkwood. Most dwarves watched the interaction with raised brows, but said nothing; it was all private, after all. 

The years went by. Nethanu came with the delegations and Dori kept crafting. One visit, he gifted the elf- who had blossomed into quite the handsome thing, by the standards of his people- a delicate tea strainer, lacy and in the shape of a flying bird.

Nethanu took it, smiled, and gifted Dori with a kiss. 

\---

Nori knew, of course, but since he'd said nothing Dori figured that his brother had finally let his business be his own. 

He knew it was wishful thinking, but really-

"Nori, it is _very rude_ to walk in before a fellow has finished." 

Nori continued chugging Dori's second best wine straight from the bottle. 

"I mean honestly, you didn't even give us a chance to get on robes. Nori are you listening to me?" 

Nori put the bottle down, eyes wide. "An elf." 

"Yes, we've established that." 

"I thought Fror was wrong. Mahal and Eugenides I prayed he was wrong. You're _buggering_ an _elf_ , Dori." 

"It's all your fault to begin with. You're not allowed to claim firsties when you never even touched the stone." Dori said. 

Nori made a choked, pained noise. "Why?" he begged. 

Dori watched Nethanu in the other room, elegantly stretching out his long arms (and remembering to duck just before the chandelier that they had taken apart together and polished, piece by piece.)

"I like his taste in tea."


	7. A Particular Set Of Skills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dori Rivers is your average neighborhood tea shop owner.  
> Who gets very irked when his brothers get into trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: AU, takes place en medias res (in the middle of the action for those of you who haven't heard that term before) reference to thievery, terrorism, and all the goodies that seem to stalk the Brothers Ri in every universe. Insinuated future dwalin/dori.

Ori Rivers sat on the back bumper of the ambulance, holding his cocoa in hands that still shook. Beside him, his older brother Nori was a pillar to lean on. 

They were both watching their oldest brother, who was Having Words with the police commissioner in front of what had once been a branch of the National Bank, and- for the past seventy two hours- had been the base of operations for a terrorist organization that had wanted access to the lower vaults. An organization that had needed a teller for the vaults to avoid tripping the alarms. 

The smoking ruin where the bank had once been told anyone who cared to look that they had kidnapped the wrong bank teller. 

"Twenty bucks says Dori lays him out flat." Nori said, sounding far more jovial than he felt, as evidenced when he winced around his bruised ribs. 

Ori shook his head. "It would be rude." He said firmly. "Dori will slash his tires later." 

Nori chuckled at that. "I just bet he will." 

The conversation seemingly done, if the way the commissioner quickly backed off was any indication, Dori turned and stalked over to his brothers, radiating displeasure like a cat. He was given a wide berth by the other policemen and emergency workers; Nori couldn't blame them. After all, despite his sensible linen slacks and red goose down housecoat, Dori was still heavily armed.

Besides. Not every day your friendly neighborhood tea merchant went rambo commando and threw a terrorist out a tenth story window. 

"So how long do I have to get out of the country?" Nori asked when Dori was within earshot. 

"You're not going ANYWHERE." Dori growled. The two younger brothers exchanged looks just before their oldest hugged them both tightly. His broad frame was shaking. 

"Don't you ever do that to me again, do you understand?" Dori sounded hoarse. "Never, ever, ever." 

Ori looked shamefaced. "I'm sorry, Dori." he whispered into their older brother's shoulder. "I should have been paying attention, I should have-" 

"You should have nothing, Ori." Dori crouched before the bumper, taking his brothers' hands. "Men like that are skilled at lying. Like Nori." 

"HEY!" the middle brother said. Dori gave him A Look. "I'm not a bloody terrorist." Nori muttered. 

"No, you're not." Dori soothed, squeezing Nori's hand. "And right now you're lucky they're more focused on the terrorists than the vaults you opened underneath." 

Nori grinned impishly. "I suppose I am." he said. He looked his brother over. "I forgot how well you wore a green beret, Dori. Has Officer Fundinson declared his undying love to you yet?" 

Dori shook his head but didn't say anything. He looked heartsick, and tired. 

"Ah, well. I give it a week. He does love your tea. AND he saw you snap a man's head off." 

Ori made a tiny squeak and gestured for their middle brother to shut up. Nori ignored him and hugged Dori tight. "Can we go home?" he asked. 

"Yes." Dori said. 

"Good. Let's go make some tea." 

"You hate tea." 

"Alright, I'll make coffee and make fun of the two of you for drinking tea." 

"I got rid of the coffee maker." 

"No you didn't." 

Dori sighed. No, he didn't, because even when his brother was a wanted felon on three continents he still occasionally came home for a strong cup of black coffee, and family was family- you couldn't pick your relatives. "I will maim you with a coffee pot, then." 

"After all the effort you put into making sure I didn't get arrested?" 

Dori snorted. "This is half your fault." 

"I BEG your pardon?" Nori brought himself up. "I wasn't the one who got kidnapped, I was running a heist." 

"In the same bank where the organization doing the kidnapping was holed up." 

"I did alright until you arrived." Nori defended. Dori chuckled. Nori had him there. His first youngest brother had been particularly inventive once he'd managed to hack the police lines and figure out what was going on. 

"Come on," Dori said, ignoring the burnt out wreck of the bank behind them. "Let's go _home._ "

The brothers Ri stood and departed, heading for Dori's little subaru. No one was dumb enough to stop them. Special Officer Fundinson watched them go, knowing that officially they weren't allowed to leave the scene but knowing better than to try stopping them. His brother stepped up beside him. "Dwalin? Are you alright?" 

"Balin," Dwalin said, a reverent light in his eyes, "I am getting _married._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay BAMF tea barista Dori is way too much fun to write. Hopefully that was an easy enough story to follow.


	8. Wisdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dori's wealth of knowledge started at an early age. Shoutout to madwriter223 who had the idea of the scene.

Orla came home from the market to find utter chaos. 

The living room of their small dwelling was an absolute mess. Nori ran around it screaming in his toddler-speak, not quite words that one could understand but with vehement meaning behind them. He seemed to have cleared a path in the destruction around his older brother Dori, who stood in the eye of the storm. Orla's oldest son was sipping tea out of a chipped cup, on a saucer that had its gold gilt peeling off. 

"Dori!" Orla scolded her child. "What on earth has happened here?!" 

Dori sipped his tea a bit more. He looked around at the overturned cushions, the small table that had been knocked over, the books on the floor. He glanced at his running, screaming brother and then back up at his mother. 

With all the wisdom a dwarfling could possess, he said, "Mother, I give up." 

He sipped his tea.


	9. Fragile Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balin knows how to treat fragile things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Rated M for m/m sex, BalinxDori.

Dori felt pins and needles all over. He gave a hitching groan. Soft lips on his shoulder reassured him. 

"It's alright, laddie." Balin's voice was a rock in the storm. "You're doing fine. We're fine." The older dwarf eased out of him and Dori gasped, head dropping to the pillows. His entire body shook. Balin's hands didn't leave him for a minute, sliding up his back and around his chest, stroking and rubbing and just _being_ there. 

"Please.." Dori whispered, though he wasn't sure what it was he was asking for. 

He could feel Balin's smile. "You ask so nicely, laddie. So polite." From anyone else it would have been patronizing; from Balin son of Fundin it was almost a compliment. "Okay." 

Balin sped up and there was a roaring in Dori's ears, a whiteness covering his vision. Maybe he screamed; he didn't know. All he knew was the full feeling of his lover and the creaking of the bed and the pulling, the desperate pulling on his wrists and then- 

When Dori woke, Balin was climbing back into the bed. 

"Good?" the older dwarf asked. Dori made a soft, hitched sound and nodded. 

"Wonderful. Let's get you out of these." Balin moved up over Dori, the small key in his hand sliding easily into the locks on the shackles- the _mithril_ shackles- that had been anchored into the stone above his bed. He immediately took Dori's hands and began rubbing circulation back into them, murmuring and kissing the skin. Dori, breathing slow, pressed his face to Balin's shoulder. 

"Thank you." he whispered. Balin smiled and kissed his nose. 

"Not a problem, laddie. Do you want to stay?" 

It was a question that Balin asked every time. Sometimes Dori didn't stay- Ori needed looking after, he had a commission to finish. 

"I'll stay." 

"Good," Balin said, and meant it. He took one of Dori's hands- those delicate, deadly hands, which could crush orc bone with surety and bend metal with ease- and kissed the palm. "Go to sleep, lad. I'll keep a lookout." 

Dori nodded, closed his eyes, and dreamed of fragile things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It occurs to me that Dori, like any very strong person, would be afraid of hurting their bed partner- possibly more than others, due to his (in my headcanon) utterly horrifying strength. Balin seemed to be the perfect counterpoint to this, having worked with the very strong Dwalin and been around unpredictable and powerful dwarves his entire life. Yes, there is an insinuation in the fic that mithril is quite possibly the only metal capable of holding Dori.


	10. Held In Fleeting Wilting Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dori does what he does best. He worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> established, somewhat, norixdwalin. Siblings watching other siblings sleep. What, you mean your sisters never stayed up to watch you sleep like creepers? Mine did.

Nori had been working too hard. 

That was the only reason why he hadn't woken when Dori slipped into the room. Dwalin, the oldest of Ri could understand; when surrounded by stone walls the warrior was not as attentive as he was out in the wilds or on patrol, but _Nori-_ Nori had spent so long running, traveling, fighting and hiding that no matter how strong the walls or the guard or the locks, he slept with one ear pricked, like a fox above its den. 

Dori sat in the chair in the corner and watched his brother sleep. Nori's carefully styled hair was an utter mess, large parts of it tangled in Dwalin's fingers. The Captain of the Royal Guard held Nori close, one arm curled about his waist and the other arched up over his head. Nori's face was tucked against Dwalin's shoulder, and he also had an arm cast over the captain. 

Dori steepled his fingers and watched Nori's chest rise and fall. 

When was the last time he had watched his brother sleep? 

Many years ago; Nori had been barely out of his dwarfling years. He' caught some kind of chest infection- a nasty deep cough that had Oin frowning more than he usually did. Dori had stayed up all night, watching the steady rise and fall of Nori's chest, making sure that it kept moving. 

Nori's body was alien to Dori, now. There were scars whose origins he did not know, tattoos and brands whose stories were not shared. The whipcord lean dwarf on the bed was nothing like the scraggly dwarrow who had left Dori and Ori behind, swearing up and down he would never come back. 

_but you did come back._

Dori turned his attention to Dwalin. Mister Dwalin, of a perfectly respectable family, a dwarf of honor and principles. 

A dwarf who had broken Nori's leg in a chase across Ered Luin. 

A dwarf who had vigilantly advocated the ancient Law of Hands. 

A dwarf who, until an encounter with trolls, had slept with one eye open around Nori. 

A dwarf who was _touching his brother like a lover when he had no right._

Whenever Nori left again, Dori always cried. He hated himself for it, and did it where Ori could not see, but Ori was a smart lad and it didn't take him long to figure it out. 

"Don't worry, Dori." he'd say to his brother, brewing up a pot of tea. "Nori's smart. He won't get hurt." 

No, Dori wanted to explain to their youngest, no, Nori was not smart. Nori was reckless and wild and did not think before he jumped and one day he would jump into a pit of spikes and no one would be there to save him and Dori would not know what had happened to him. 

Dwalin son of Fundin was not a pit of spikes. 

He was _worse._

He was worse because he was so good. Because he was a part of the Lordly Class, and had been for seven generations back. He was worse because if things went wrong, he would destroy the crumbling foundations of the little House of Ri, what parts of it Dori had managed to keep standing. Dwalin was worse because Dori had seen the look Nori had given him and had hoped that he'd imagined it. Dwalin was worse because if he left, if he decided against this fragile thing that had started when they guarded one anothers' backs outside the Gate of Erebor, Nori would go and he would never come back. 

Dori had just managed to catch his brother again. He could not imagine losing him. 

Dwalin was a threat. 

Dori had a very set method of dealing with threats. 

Nori, however, was a grown dwarf. He would never forgive Dori. 

In the dark of Nori's bedroom, watching the Captain of the Guard and the Spymaster sleep, Dori's eyes light up aqua as they caught the faint light, focused entirely on the two twined bodies on the bed. Dori stiffened when he realized another set of glowing eyes was watching him. Not Nori, no. 

Dwalin was awake. 

Dori contemplated him. Dwalin contemplated Dori. 

"If you hurt him," Dori whispered, pitching his voice as breathily as he could so as not to wake his exhausted brother, "I will break you into so many pieces your brother will spend years searching for them." 

Dwalin did not growl at the promise. He didn't react in any physical way save to blink slowly, his gleaming orbs going dark as he tilted his head. 

Nori made a sleep-sound and Dwalin turned his attention entirely to the thief, stroking his hair and kissing his forehead. 

When he looked up Dori was gone, already out the door. In the morning there would be tea and civil conversation and Dori complaining about how late his brother's work had him coming home. Nori would suggest moving out and Dori would forbid it and they would bicker as Ori and Dwalin shared a pot of coffee, not even remotely awake. 

That was for the morning. At the moment Dori sat in his own cold, quiet room, held himself and his jealousy and his pride and his fear and his sickening hope in his hands, and begged Mahal to once more, just once, smile on the House of Ri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit of kangaroo headcanon, though rarely explored, that Dwarves have excellent night vision and eyes that light up like some mammals. It only makes sense. Tunnels are dark, after all.


	11. Crocodile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> never smile at a crocodile. implied future dorixdwalin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AU, modern setting.

Dwalin looked the man up and down. He resisted the urge to ask if the gentleman was in the right place, instead focusing on how damn perfect those lips were, plump and red behind their white mustache and beard. 

"Can I help you?" he asked gruffly. 

"Are you Dwalin Fundinson?" The man asked, looking Dwalin over as though the man's existence had somehow personally offended him. 

"Aye." Dwalin said. 

"Then you can." The man replied. "I was referred to you." 

"Oh?" Dwalin asked. "By who?" 

The white haired man smiled wryly. "A gentleman by the last name Rivers." 

Rivers...Rivers...

"NORI?" Dwalin asked, eyes wide. "Nori sent you to me?!" Nori Rivers was as different to this sharply dressed man as night was to day. The potential customer was all crisp maroon shirt and lightwash jeans; Nori was black leather and slicked back hair and an assortment of knives he had to take off before every sitting, grinning all the while. 

"He did." The man said patiently. "And while I do not trust his opinion on many things, this is one situation in which I feel I can trust him. I would like to get your opinion on finishing a piece."

Dwalin jerked in surprise at that. This fusty gentleman didn't look at all the type who normally frequented tattoo parlors. "I've been known to finish pieces I didn't start." he said cautiously. "Depends a great deal on what it is and where." 

The man nodded. "I see. Well. Shall we?" he gestured towards the tattooing room. Dwalin, dumbfounded, stood and followed after the shorter fellow as though he owned the parlor, not Dwalin. Once the privacy curtain had been drawn Dwalin turned back to the man. "Now let's see what we haaa-" he trailed off. 

The man had removed his buttonup. He had shoulders many men would kill for, and biceps that made Dwalin's chest uncomfortably tight. 

What really caught his attention, though, was the crocodile. 

It was _massive,_ head starting at the man's left shoulder and body curling down so that its tail ended in a tantilizing curl just above the right (very shapely) hipbone. It was done in varying shades of green, styled after the highly patterned aboriginal tattoos that Dwalin had seen at some conventions but had never attempted himself. The whole effect was less rigid, and lent itself to a beautiful flowing. The teeth were so very white. 

"Well?" 

Dwalin was snapped out of his Very Happy Place. "What?" 

"I asked if you thought you could finish it." The man said, one eyebrow cocked. "There's still some shading to be done on the tail and unfortunately my old artist moved across the country." 

Dwalin swallowed hard. "I, I- yes. Shading I can do though I should warn you that isn't my usual style.." 

"Nori said the same thing." The man said. "Can you give me some estimates?" 

Talking shop. Dwalin could do that. They discussed times and shades and things for Dwalin to brush up on. Dwalin asked for and received permission to have Kili along for the session, as the lad was very interested in all kinds of tattoos and would have an eye out for things Dwalin didn't. 

Dwalin thought he was doing very well until the man turned around, grabbing his shirt. The front of him was just as appealing as the back, with the slight belly that indicated core strength out of necessity or personal requirement, as opposed to the washboard abs of some of Dwalin's more irritating clients. 

The belly was nice. 

The nipple rings were better. 

Thin and rosegold they glinted in the man's chest hair, discreet and gorgeous. Dwalin swallowed dryly and his head felt like it was full of cotton. 

Then the button up was back on, and Dwalin was crestfallen. 

"So, next tuesday?" The man asked. 

Dwalin nodded as well as he could. "Let me just- write your name down." he said distractedly, going for the large desk calender out in the receiving area. "What'd you say your name was?" 

"I didn't." the man replied. "It's Dori Rivers." 

Dori. 

Dori...

"DORI?!" Dwalin all but bellowed, staring at the man. Dori, the fastidious. Dori the punctual. Dori the 'you won't BELIEVE how much tea he drinks Dwalin'. Dori the 'my youngest brother had best be back before midnight or he will turn into a pumpkin'. 

Dori rose an eyebrow. "It's a family name." he said primly. 

Dwalin wrote it down, wishing he didn't blush quite so easily. He handed Dori his card. "There's a twenty four hour window to cancel. If you cancel day of, we keep the deposit." he said. 

"Understood." Dori tucked the card into a slim wallet. He gave Dwalin a long, slow look, and he smiled. 

The smile was entirely predatory. 

"I'll see you next week, Mr. Fundinson." Dori said. "It was a _pleasure_ talking with you." 

With a swing of those ridiculous hips, he was out the door and up the steps, the jingling bell the only hint he had been there at all. 

Dwalin, face red, called Nori and bitched him out for fifteen minutes. Nori couldn't stop laughing. 

-So, one question.- Nori asked when Dwalin paused to take a breath. -Was he wearing his tongue stud?- 

"HIS WHAT?!" 

Dwalin couldn't look at his piercing equipment for days, and when he went to bed that night it was with the thought of very white hair, very green eyes, and the slow, steady smile of a crocodile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just fucking love the Dwalin-as-tattoo-artist trope. 
> 
> I also love crocodiles. 
> 
> And Dori. 
> 
> It seems only logical that Dori would be represented by a crocodile, who are slow and patient animals until the moment of ambush, when they strike with a speed, strength and accuracy that can only be described politely as 'awe inspiringly horrific'.


	12. Light the Red Lantern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dori finds comfort in that which suits him best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings: prostitution as institution, some family feels. Ages and timelines are probably supremely effed up. Some bofurxdori towards the end.

There are few things more beautiful than the gentle flame inside a red lantern. 

Dori knows this most intimately. He was very young when the dragon came, barely more than a toddling dwarrow. His earliest memories are not of battle-hardened warriors or mining depths for untold beauty. Rather, he remembers holding the combs for his mother and her companions, the gauzy scarves he would help them curl about their shoulders, the scent of clove and sandalwood kissing the air. Dori remembers wide courtyards and beautiful marble fountains and peace with others who were not his brothers and sisters, not by blood, but were close enough that it didn't matter. 

Dori remembers the warm comfort of the red lanterns that hung outside each window, and how very important and special a job it was to pull them in in the morning and blow out the tiny golden candles within. 

When they leave the mountain there are no more fountains and everything smells of ash. Dori follows his mother obediently and cries only when he has the time for the friends who did not get out. His mother gives him a little brother, all red hair and smiles, and plies her trade. 

The first time a Man tries to take her by force, Dori only learns about it later. 

The second time, she is called words so foul that Dori- all of forty, and growing strong, very strong, as strong as his father- finds the man and makes sure he can never use such words again. 

There are no safe places, and eventually they settle down in Ered Luin. Sometimes their mother has company; sometimes, she does not. Dori keeps a careful eye out. He feels no shame when he introduces himself as "Dori, son of Orla." 

Dori takes home his first customer when he is fifty two. She is a matronly sort, and knows his mother. She guides him as gently as she can, and he wishes that they were beneath the Mountain again, so he might do things properly. 

Dori buries his mother and becomes the only parent to his youngest brother; their middle sibling is lost to the wind, and occasionally Dori thinks perhaps he can hear Nori's laughter on the breeze. Dori does his hair carefully every morning in braids he once helped the ladies of his lost home with, and ties it with her pins and comb. He tinkers, sometimes. 

Other times, another kind of customer approaches him, and he does not tinker. 

When Balin son of Fundin returns from Azanulbizar, there is a haunting in his eyes. He seeks out Dori because Dori is of Ri, and the nobles of Erebor remember that name. Dori opens his arms and gives Balin what he needs. 

Over time, he does the same for Balin's brother Dwalin. 

One night, it is raining, and Ori is sleeping peacefully upstairs, and Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror appears at the door. 

Dori holds him through the night, and in the morning the deep shadows are lessened, though not gone. 

"I do not have the coin you deserve." Thorin says, and Dori shushes him, and kisses him on the forehead, and sends him home to his sister. 

Fili is terrified, and Dori does not blame him. 

"You don't have to do this." Dori says. "there is no shame in it." 

Fili will not hear of retreating; he is a true son of Durin. He stutters and cannot look at Dori because Dori is _beautiful_ , and offering precisely the kind of thing that Fili is not used to talking of or seeing. 

Once soothed, Fili is a willing student. Dori is a cunning, satisfying teacher. Kili is less restrained, more like an unbroken colt. 

When the quest begins Dori joins it out of solidarity, and to lend his strength, and the warmth of his bed. Nori is not pleased. 

"You give too much of yourself away." he says. "you always have. One day there will be nothing left of you to _give,_ Dori." 

Dori knows that Nori speaks from love, but he ignores it all the same. Perhaps, he thinks to himself, that it was fate for Nori to be so selfish, if his oldest brother is a constantly-pouring vessel. Thank Mahal Ori seems to be balanced. 

Bilbo is utterly shocked at the whole thing after catching Dori and Oin in a grove of trees just off the road, though they do not speak of it until the time after dinner, when chores are to be attended to.

"You mean you- you-" Bilbo cannot even speak the words, and twists the needle and thread in his fingers into an unrecognizable knot. 

"I have." Dori says to him, mending a sock. "I do." 

"But that is- it- it's hardly proper!" 

Dori raises an eyebrow and Bilbo splutters. Later the hobbit apologizes, and says that he does not much understand the culture of Dwarves. Dori thinks it good that he has thirteen teachers. 

After everything- Mirkwood, Laketown, the dragon, the siege, the battle- Dori and his brothers find a nice quiet house and claim it as their own. It has a back window for Nori to escape, and a study for Ori to scribe in, and a kitchen that will fit many different kinds of tea. 

When the first red lanterns are lit, Dori is there. He helps to build a brothel anew, with different fountains and different dwarrows; and the scent of clove is back, and the gauzy scarves flit through the air, and soon enough there are children underfoot. 

Sometimes Dori is visited by his brothers in arms when the lanterns are lit. He never turns them away. When Thorin comes, there is a room set aside. 

The only one who never visits is Bofur. 

Bofur always comes to the house, and drinks tea, and leaves behind a small whittled creation. 

No matter the hour, the day or the jobs that need doing, Dori lets Bofur in. 

There need be no lantern lit for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit that I do love me some good courtesan/prostitute Dori. I find sex work fascinating for how easily it is demonized in an overly stringent and moralistic society, yet continues to generate such massive amounts of income. I'd like to think dwarves are all very sensible about things like that. Also, Dori is a diamond-hard dwarf stud. Nothing anyone says will convince me otherwise. All dwarves with eyes want to have Dori's babies or attempt to force some upon him. 
> 
> I may or may not have lifted the name for the mother of the brothers Ri from someone on tumblr? I honestly can't remember. If it was you shout out so I can give proper credit.


	13. Afterwards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aule has answered this question time and time again, but he's never gotten used to elves crying all over him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story loosely follows a romance put down by the unparalleled Thorinsmut in their story 'Axe Omakes', related to the Nori/Dwalin Epic Your Axe To My Throat, My Knife To Yours. Nethanu is an OC of that universe and to understand what is going on, you might wish to start there. Trust me, you won't regret it. 
> 
> This chapter is in no way sanctioned by Thorinsmut. I once threatened to write it and now that they've gone and broken my heart with the epilogue of Axe Omakes I felt it was time for revenge. 
> 
> The timing of Nethanu's passing- if indeed he passed at all, didn't simply sail to Valinor- is left purposefully vague since I don't even know. 
> 
> Here's hoping I didn't slaughter anyone character-wise.

Aule the Smith, who had forged the sun and moon, who had helped create order out of chaos and made life without direction when life first came to have meaning, was not comfortable with elves crying in his forge. 

"I'm sorry." Nethanu whispered. "I, I-" he burst into sobs again and Aule winced. 

"I cannot help yeh, lad, if you don't tell me why you sought me out." Aule pointed out. 

This seemed to still something in Nethanu. The elf blew his nose on his handkerchief and took a long, composed breath. "I wanted to know _why._ " he whispered. 

Aule relaxed, a fraction. 

Oh, this conversation. 

Again. 

Well at least he knew why the blasted creature was crying. 

"Why what, lad?" he asked, not unkindly. 

"Why, why did you create so _wonderful_ a people, full of, of life and joy and a drive to create- and then give them lives so short?" 

Nethanu was gaining points in Aule's logbook. Celebrimbor had simply started yelling at him. 

"The lives of my children and the children of Eru were set before I understood the repercussions, little one." Aule admitted. His brothers and sisters did not like it when he said he was infallible; his brothers and sisters did not have so much that they had not been infallible for. 

"He was like sand in my fingers." Nethanu whispered. "So beautiful, so strong, and yet at the first touch of the ocean of time he crumbled and left me alone." 

Dori had asked him not to do this. 

Dori had asked him to live on, if he could- to be _happy._

_"You deserve nothing but happiness, my love, and it is all I wish for you."_

Aule sighed. The complexities of the world's creation were not so easily divulged and yet he could _see_ where Nethanu's soul had been soldered to one of his Children, the line of it mithril-bright. 

No doubt Manwe had whispered the directions to the forge in Nethanu's ear, and Yavanna's grasses had sprouted in a path right to his door. They were both so meddlesome. Romantics, his brother and sister-wife, eternally. 

Nethanu was back to crying and perhaps they did have a point. 

"-and now I shall never see him again. I would rather be unmade than never see him again!" 

Aule took Nethanu's hand, eyes blazing. "Speak not those words!" He boomed, and the elf snapped his mouth shut, staring up at the Smithgod. 

"Speak them not." Aule gentled his voice. "For the act of taking one's life, of being so unmade, is as abhorent to my children as it is to me." He brushed one of Nethanu's braids- dwarvish braids- out of the little elf's face. "Do you truely wish to be with him?" 

"More than anything." Nethanu said. 

"You would have to give this up." Aule gestured from the door of his forge, out over the green and growing land. "Valinor would no longer be open to you." 

"I do not care!" Nethanu cried. "For years I dwelt in the mountain and I was happy! I had no need of trees save the sturdy pines, and I could see all the stars I liked from the upper balconies! A world without Dori is a world without light and I will not stay." 

He was less eloquent than Celebrimbor, but still, his words made Aule smile. 

"I bid you go." he said. "Think on this. In three days, when you return, there will be a guide for you. If you follow them, you will not come to Valinor again." 

"I do not need the time-" 

"Yet I insist you take it." Aule said. "Go, Nethanu. And return, if that is your desire." He took up his hammer again. "The choice is yours." 

\---

Three days later Nethanu had left his small house in the fields of Yavanna, where many of the silvians had made their homes. He said goodbye to what family he had followed to the White Shores, packed his small leather satchel (which Nori had bought for him, so many lifetimes ago, and he'd shown where Nethanu could hide all his valuables because they were family even if they had started in such a painful manner) and he returned to the path that led to Aule's forge. 

Aule was not there. Instead a tall figure in a black cloak and hood waited. 

"You are Nethanu?" he asked, voice as deep as a mountain's roots. 

Nethanu nodded. "I am." 

"You have made your choice?" 

Nethanu nodded again. "Yes." he said firmly. Valinor was nice; it was beautiful and peaceful. 

It was not Erebor, filled with laughter and hammers and chaos. It was not the world of hugs and tea and gentle kisses he had lost. It did not have dwarves willing to lay down their axes for him. 

The cloaked figure nodded. "Then follow me." 

He turned, and walked down a path Nethanu had not noticed; the elf immediately jogged to keep up. 

Asking questions of his guide turned out to be useless, as the guide did not seem interested in talking. Nethanu came to the conclusion that the guide could not be a Vala, for he didn't have that towering presence; neither did he seem like a maia. An elf in Aule's service? In Namo's? Possible. 

Nethanu did not know how long they walked. Time, in Valinor, seemed entirely relative. He could tell when they began climbing a steady incline. Slowly the trees gave way to shrubs and dirt and then bare rock.

They rounded a bend and before them was a door. 

Nethanu recalled the great and beautiful gates of Erebor, remembered the crafting talk of the gates of Minas Tirith. These shattered them both. They glimmered in many colors of metal inlaid into the white alabaster, forming seven stars and seven anvils and seven lives all carved with such detail that the figures seemed to move. 

"the Heart of the Mountain." his guide said. "Where all of Durin's folk come, in their final days." 

Nethanu stared up at the gates. He turned to his guide. "...Dori is there?" he asked, voice sick with hope. 

The guide pulled down his hood and Nethanu was shocked to find he recognized it, had seen it in paintings and in carvings and with a name whispered reverently amongst the dwarves even as it was cursed by those elves old enough to remember it. 

"Aye," Eol the Moriquendi said, "if you would seek him." 

"I do." Nethanu whispered. 

The doors opened with a blast of warmth. Great torches lined the stairs that led down into the mountain. 

"Then go." Eol said. 

Nethanu did, without a single glance back. 

\---

Another elf waited for him at the bottom of the stairs. 

"Nethanu?" He asked in a rolling, musical tone. Nethanu nodded. Celebrimbor grinned. "Follow me." 

He led Nethanu through the maze of tunnels and streets, waving to those dwarves who called out and telling them he had no time. 

"Another one?" One of the dwarves cried as Celebrimbor passed with Nethanu. "We're gonna start charging you rent soon!" 

"You'd never!" Celebrimbor called back, and there was laughter. 

Nethanu tried to keep his eyes everywhere all at once but his heart was clenching, seeking. Where was Dori? Where was- 

"Ah. Here we are." Celebrimbor said. "Right on time." 

It was the most beautiful teashop Nethanu had ever seen. Its columns were carved over with vines, its door set with pieces of colored glass. Celebrimbor gently pushed Nethanu's shoulder and the elf opened the door without a second thought, standing-

and not needing to stoop, for the ceilings were plenty high enough for him. 

The place was bustling and Nethanu recognized some faces, customers that had been lost in battle or who had at last passed of great age and they all cried out happily to see him. 

Nothing mattered but Dori, setting a teapot on the wide bank to heat before turning and smiling up at him. 

"There you are." He said, as though Nethanu had simply stepped out to pick up more flour for their pastries. "I've been waiting for you." 

Nethanu kissed his trembling fingers and pressed them to Dori's lips. 

"I'm sorry I took so long." he said. 

"I didn't mind waiting." Dori said. 

"I did." Nethanu replied.

Later, they would speak of what Nethanu had given up; later, they would meet other Elves given the choice, and Nethanu would find he was not the first to love a child of Durin. 

Nor, if Gloin's pained looks were any indication, would he be the last. 

That was for later. This was now, and Nethanu tied on his apron which had never looked so starchly perfect and picked up a tray full of teacups. 

"Nethanu!" One of the customers called. "Sometime today?" 

"Hold your horses!" Nethanu called, and laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The elves: 
> 
> Celebrimbor: Son of Curufin, last of the line of Feanor. He featured in later chapters of the Silmarillion and with his guild forged all of the rings of power save the One. He died in a very unfortunate manner, strapped to a banner while the forces of Sauron invaded his city and sacked the shit out of it. Celebrimbor helped build the westgate of Khazad Dum with Narvi. I ship them pretty hardcore. 
> 
> Eol the Moriquendi: Another elf of the Silmarillion, he features in the chapter 'Of Maeglin'. A vassal of Doriath he dwelled in the forest of Nan Elmoth and it is heavily insinuated that he is the first (and thusfar only) elf to have been taught khuzdul, the sacred language of the Dwarves. Tolkien went out of his way to point out how much time Eol spent with the dwarves. 
> 
> In Kangaroo's headcanon Eol is an adopted dwarf. Eol's story does not end well for anyone involved (he kills his wife and gets executed and curses his son on the way out) but it seemed to me he'd be terribly unhappy with anyone but the dwarves in his afterlife, so he's, I don't know, Aule's flunky or something. 
> 
> Legolas: He's there in spirit, if you squint.


	14. Keeping in Shape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone on tumblr said something. It all went downhill from there.

"You want me to..what?" 

"It won't hurt you at all, Mister Baggins." 

"Yes, well, this hardly seems proper-" 

"It won't take more than an hour, two at most." 

"Well, I suppose...if you're certain-" 

"I am." 

"Okay. Like this?" 

"Just like that." 

\---

Bofur stared. 

"...Dori." 

"Yes?"

"Why are you benchpressing our hobbit?" 

Dori shrugged and lifted the plank of wood over his head open-palmed for another count. Bilbo, perched carefully on top of said plank, hung on to his tea as best he could. 

"I need to stay in shape somehow."


	15. Float Like a Butterfly (Sting Like A Bee)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin lost the fight against Dori. The fight with Nori might just be beginning.

"I know what distracted you." 

Dwalin looked up from his neat whiskey. "Pardon?" 

"In the ring." The man who sat down next to him was not nearly as tall as Dwalin, but he was set low, with shoulders like a bull. That was what made Dori Rivers the reigning Heavyweight Champion in the boxing ring. He was strong, he was fast when he needed to be, and his technique was damn near flawless. 

He also didn't drink, which was why Dwalin found his presence in the bar a bit disconcerting. 

"Nothing distracted me." Dwalin said. "I lost. That's it." 

"You? Just lose?" Dori shook his head and gestured at the bartender; moments later, a glass of plain tonic water was placed in front of him. "Men like you don't just lose, Dwalin Fundinson. I know. I watched every bout you ever had where a camera was present and I read about the ones where there were no cameras, up to and including your cage fights at the Laketown Docks." 

Dwalin winced. Those had been his early days- not his most honorable. 

"What do you care if I was distracted or not?" he asked. 

"I don't." Dori said bluntly. "I haven't kept my title for three years by not paying attention to my opponents. In a straight fight maybe you'd beat me, maybe you wouldn't. The fact of the matter is that you, my friend, had your head somewhere else entirely." 

Dwalin chuckled grimly. "Oh? And where was it?" 

"On dragon scales." 

Dwalin's brow furrowed. He looked at the tonic water that Dori had in front of him. Maybe the other man had taken up drinking after all? 

"That's the color name of her favorite lipstick. Dragon scales. She's worn it at every one of my championship bouts. She tells me it's what makes me win." 

_She turns and notices him watching her on the climb to the box seats. She smiles, and though her mouth seems a little too wide, the gorgeous red of it is like a rose about to open. She draws one hand up her side and gives a cheeky little wave._

Dwalin's fingers tightened around his glass. "I really don't know what you're talking about." 

"Of course you don't." Dori said pleasantly. "Like you don't remember she was wearing lace gloves. Purple lace. Tatted by her younger brother. _Our_ younger brother." 

Oh.

Shit. 

"Is that why you're here?" Dwalin asked, incredulous. "To tell me off for being distracted by your sister? You pummeled me. What does it matter?" 

"It matters because this isn't some run of the mill red carpet tart." Dori said, overly patient. "It matters because this is my sister. My Nori." 

Nori. What a beautiful name. it had a smoothness to it that reminded Dwalin of her hair, the long beautifully woven red braid with the clasp in the shape of a bird at the end. 

"Mr. Fundinson normally I wouldn't bother coming to a... _place_ like this. It isn't my style. Normally, I wouldn't worry about a man like you. However, when my sister gets an idea into her head, she tends to bite it like a wolverine and shake until she's done." 

Dori turned his tonic water in his hand. "Are you ready to be shaken?" 

Dwalin blinked in confusion. "Wait." He said. "Are you warning me off your sister, or telling me to be _afraid_ of your sister?" 

In response Dori slid something across the bartop to Dwalin. It was an envelope, small and creamy, with a lipmark in dragon scales red over its seal. 

"You made an impression." Dori said. 

"So you're her errand boy?" 

"I am her _brother._ " Dori said sharply. "She asked me to deliver this to you. I am doing so against my better judgement." 

"And why is it against your better judgement?" 

"Because, Mr. Fundinson," Dori said, "the man I watched fight over and over was a good man. An upstanding individual whose moral compass points only north. And while I love and adore my sister, I am forced to inform you that her compass, if she has one at all, has no point for north." Dori gave Dwalin a steady look. "You are promising. I would like to fight you again. I'm getting old. It might be time to retire. If she distracted you so much then, imagine what she could do if she had your heart in her hands." 

"You speak like your sister's an evil queen." Dwalin said. 

"Even the evil queen had to have siblings, Mr. Fundinson." Dori said. He finished his tonic water and stood. "What you do with your life is your choice, of course. If perhaps you open that envelope and I see you on my sister's arm maybe you're the man we've prayed for all this time. If you aren't, I hope your fall is a short and relatively painless one. Good night." 

Without giving Dwalin a chance to reply, Dori made for the door, tailored linen jacket over one arm. Wood creaked, the bell clanged, and the reigning Heavyweight Champion left the ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sibling relationships are complicated. You always love your family, but you do not always have to like them.


	16. Shut Up And Drive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dori has a thing for fast cars.DorixKili

There was _nothing_ hotter than a revving engine. 

The way it would purr when everything was in tip-top shape, the manner in which the hammering pistons could match the beating of a heart. Even the smell of exhaust was a high. 

Nori knew it, the little bastard. He would bring around boytoys (and girltoys) and their cars, and they would _discuss_ at the table in the garage, and whenever Dori would come out with tea or cookies Nori would toss his brother that damn look. Sometimes there was an eyebrow wriggle. 

Dori would tell him he was positively awful later, and Nori would just laugh and saunter away from him. 

Dori didn't allow himself many pleasures, truth be told. Ori was forever after him to loosen up, to "do something you _want_ to do, Dori. Please?" 

Dori told his brother that of course he did things for himself; and Ori wouldn't believe him. 

In this Nori was a good brother. He never said a single thing. 

Nori never told Ori about the garage downtown which they rented for a song from one of many exboyfriends. Nori never told Ori about the way Dori could tickle life into the most tired of engines. Nori certainly never told Ori about the track out by the old quarry, where there were raids on the weekends alternate to when the races actually occurred. 

Nori never told Ori about Fili and Kili. 

They'd started as toys, of course; most of the Ri brothers' aquaintences did, more was the pity. Fili and Kili, though, were another breed. Theirs was a family of proud service, and that Nori had managed to wriggle away from their Uncle was miraculous in and of itself. 

It was Fili who fixed the cars; it was Kili who drove. 

Kili's driving style was, well. Reckless was a word. When Dori stood between the two competitors of the night, with his delicate lace handkerchief, the unquestioned madame of the track (and of course he was, he had _built_ it with his brother's help, just he and Nori and a shared hard on for the squeal of gravel and the smell of burning rubber) he never looked at Kili. Dori couldn't; if he did all the blood would rush somewhere it shouldn't and he'd be useless at the end of the race. 

The cocky little shit. 

Granted, it had taken Kili a long time to even build up the courage, and when he finally did he kissed Dori before the starting line like the older man was air, water, time. 

Dori let it happen, for a moment or two; it was nice. 

Then he put his hand firmly against Kili's chest and pushed. 

Kili stumbled but he didn't fall. Behind the car that they had built together Fili fist-pumped. 

"Dinner tomorrow?" Kili asked. 

Dori grasped the front of his shirt and pulled him in, kissing with more teeth than lip. When he let go Kili looked dazed, drugged. Up in the stands Nori whooped. 

Dori leaned forward and pressed his mouth against Kili's ear. 

"Shut up," he murmured, "and drive."


End file.
